


Turnabout

by Alsike



Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Time Travel, vespas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsike/pseuds/Alsike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rome. Emily is 15 and about to make a serious mistake. But when someone interferes, the altered course of events may only end up worse for everyone involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God you guys. I've been really trying to get back into the E2 frame of mind and I go back and I read my old stuff and I'm like--how did I write stuff that was _that raw_. I don't know how to access that intensity anymore. But I've been having ideas and I want to play with them, so I've been going back over my old things. This is one of them: a wildly pornographic wildly unfinished piece of crazy I dug up. I would like to finish it, flesh it out. I need to connect with that headspace again. I'm hoping to make each part stand alone, so the likely slow pace of updates will not be too irritating (if anyone actually wants to read this filth).
> 
> Anyways. ALL THE WARNINGS. There's nothing nice going on in this part of the story. A lot of it is gross and possibly verges on body horror. :/

The girl paced back and forth in the alleyway near the side door of the apartment building. Her forehead was drawn, mouth soft at the corners. She wasn’t waiting, just trying to work up her nerve. It was evening, the air cooling, a few people walking or riding mopeds down the twisty streets, a few shouts, “Vaffanculo, testa di cazzo!” the normal soundtrack of Rome at this hour. The girl didn’t notice the noise or the passers-by. She bit her lower lip and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms protectively around herself.

“You look like you really don’t want to do it.”

The girl’s dark head shot up. She spotted the speaker, a tall blonde woman, mid twenties, in Italian leather boots and a white linen top, open enough to reveal a hint of the white lacy bra she wore underneath. “Who—”

“I’m not going to tell you not to.” The woman smiled, but it wasn’t friendly, just sly and a little off-putting. “I’m not your mother. She thinks you’re a little girl, but when did you ever get to be a little girl?”

The girl’s eyes widened, brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who thought it. She told you ‘be mature, act grown up.’ All she _meant_ was stay out of trouble.”

“Who the hell are you?” The girl snapped, shocked and upset. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“I’m a friend.” The woman smiled again in that same unpleasant way. “A potential friend, say. I’m not going to tell you you’re making a mistake, but you haven’t thought this totally through. What’s your plan of attack?”

The woman’s eyes in the shadowy evening were dark and sharp, but somehow, the girl knew they were blue. She knew it like she knew the pain in her head was wrong. Her stomach twisted and she tried to fight.

“Oh, he’s pretty cute actually.” The woman laughed. “You’re not sure? You sure you like boys? Aww, you’re going to go in there and try to seduce him? He’s a teenage boy, darling. I’m sure he’ll pick up on things _eventually_ , but it’ll be a lot faster if you just ask him to fuck you.”

“Shut up!” the girl managed, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. “Just _stop_!”

There was a snap, and the blonde woman took an unexpected step back, her face a little pale and surprised. “Oh.” She looked at the girl, who looked back, half crouched, as if she was going to run. “Sorry,” she said, and smiled, teeth flashing long and white in the light. “I didn’t realize it was hurting you.”

“What _are_ you?”

The woman flicked a foil packet towards the girl, who caught it, surprised. “Think of me as your fairy godmother, darling.”

The girl looked down at the object in her hands. “But…”

“If we meet again…” The woman smiled, a lock of ice pale hair falling to cast a shadow over the side of her face. “You can call me Mrs. Robinson.”

With a single click of heels on the pavement, the woman was gone, and the side door of the apartment building opened, a sandy-headed boy peering out. The girl spun, and the boy smiled.

“Emily.”

“Hey.”

“You’ve been pacing around down here for like a half an hour, you going to come up?”

Emily ducked her head. “I guess. I was just…”

She flexed her fingers and the boy’s eyes fell on the packet in her hand. Emily followed his gaze and tensed. The boy looked surprised, but then he cocked his head and grinned at her. “You want to do it?”

Emily ducked her head. “Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

#

Emma leaned back against the wall of the alley and stretched out, riding on the cusp of the kid’s consciousness. She wasn’t probing this time, no chance of being kicked out by those nasty shields like rusty warehouse doors.

“I really don’t know what to do.”

Emma shook her head. The girl didn’t need to broadcast her innocence. The boy was already one of those too-full-of-himself types, not that he had any more experience. But he was a braggart, and pushy. The girl had enough memories of hanging around at his side while he drooled over ‘real women.’

He had a bright smile, at least, even if he flashed it indiscriminately at any pretty female walking by. But the girl, when probed, had only had a few flashes of attraction for him. There was another boy, a shy one, whose mouth was soft and girlish. She had thought about kissing him, would rather kiss him, but felt certain that he would reject her.

The memory was from a day or two before, still strong and ripe, a little frayed from too much anxiety. The two boys and the girl had settled in a café over strong chocolate in the evening, watching the beautiful women stroll down the street. The braggart’s eyes were greedy. The shy boy’s stayed on his own fingers and his own chocolate. The girl’s lingered on long legs and the hem of short skirts, subtle unease twisting in her gut.

“I’m going to have so many girls,” said the braggart.

The girl glanced away from those ripe dangling pomegranates from hell, and back to her boys. “You’ve never had a girl.”

The shy boy laughed and shared a warm glance with the girl.

“The first one’s the hardest,” the braggart protested. “No one really wants to bag a virgin. But after that I’ll have tons of women.” He smiled generously. “Maybe I’ll even send some of them your way, Matty.”

The shy boy ducked his head, “Can’t we talk about something else?”

“What? You don’t want to get laid? You a faggot or something?”

The boy looked like he had been kicked in the stomach, and the girl’s body seized up, her heartbeat strong and quick in her throat. They didn’t let their eyes meet.

“Shut up, John,” she said. “Matty doesn’t want your leftovers.”

“I’m going to go home.” The shy boy stood up.

“Matt--” The girl reached out.

“No, it’s getting late.” He gave her an apologetic glance and slipped out into the warm night.

The braggart smiled at the girl. “We could do it,” he said. “Show Matty up.” He looked almost serious for a moment. “We wouldn’t be _kids_ anymore.”

And Emma understood the bitter attraction of that offer.

Back in the present the braggart was talking again. “It’s cool. I’ve got it covered.” He kept casting glances at the girl, his face flushed with eagerness. Just the idea had gotten him excited. He locked the door behind them. A stinky, teenage-boy room, posters of Italian cars and models taped to the walls.

“Classy,” Emma muttered, rolling her eyes. The boy’s thoughts were even less classy. _I can’t believe she’s really going to let me bang her._ His balls were tight and aching. _I wish she hadn’t brought a condom. I would have hidden mine. It’s supposed to be better without._

“What should I… Do I have to get undressed?” Her voice betrayed her discomfort with the idea. And if he didn’t make her, he was a stupid fool. Would he really miss the opportunity to see those soft teenage curves, put his hands on her full breasts, feel their weight? …But yes, he would.

“No, no.” She was wearing a short summer dress. “Just take off your underwear.”

The girl flinched, but the boy didn’t notice. He was fumbling with his slacks and opening up the condom packet. The girl took off her shoes and socks, and then, more slowly, shucked her underwear and pushed them into one of the shoes. She sat on the edge of the bed.

The boy turned around, and pulled off his shirt. He flexed a little. Emma, two streets away, snorted at his chubby little-boy physique. The girl was just looking at his dick, poking up out of his boxers, half-hard, the expression on her face like she was going to be sick.

The boy finally looked at her, frowning slightly. “Do you want me to like, kiss you, or something?”

The girl shrugged awkwardly. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Emma groaned aloud. “Are you serious? You just want him to walk all over you, don’t you? Doormat.”

“Great.” The boy grinned, looking relieved. The condom was in his hand and he fumbled with it, pulling at it and trying to get it over his cock. It didn’t look like he was being that careful, and Emma didn’t even have to read his mind to know he was half hoping he’d rip it and they could do it without one. She gave a prod there and the girl finally made a move.

“I think it goes…” she reached out and managed to get it on easily enough. Then she flinched back slightly, realizing what she was touching.

The boy laughed. “You can put your hands on it.” He wiggled his hips and the cock bobbed in front of the girl’s face. “Touching is kind of the point.” The girl swallowed and looked away. “Come on.” He reached down and pushed up her skirt. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

She didn’t even want to look at it. “I’ll pass.”

“Okay.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. She went, hesitantly, pulling her knees up as she did. The boy crawled on the bed between her legs. He was staring, intent and evaluating what he could see. Hours of porn couldn’t really prepare you for this, for someone else’s body, their real body, right there in front of you. Then he shook his head, shaking off the confusion, and half lowered himself down. Emma could feel the girl’s heart rate picking up, unfortunately, not in excitement, but in panic. She was shaking. The boy made an attempt and bounced unsuccessfully off her thigh. He rearranged himself. Every time he moved, his dick would bob and hit the girl, and the girl would flinch. He took a hold of himself and poked with his fingers, finding the bone underneath and then working his way down. Finally he found the actual entrance and made a little grimace at the organic heat and damp. The girl was clinging to the covers and trying not to move.

Emma cringed and wished he would just get it over with. Being in this girl’s mind during all this fucking comedy was like Chinese water torture. Finally he put it in the right place, and the girl lifted her hips for him. She bit her lip and didn’t scream when he pushed in, even with the sear of pain that shot through her head. That was admirable at least. At least this girl had a little dignity.

#

John didn’t take long. Emily had known it was going to hurt, but she liked it when things hurt. Still, it was more painful than she had expected. She bit her lip and pushed back against him so it would be done ripping faster. Then it just burned, and she almost liked it, even if it felt alien and a little disgusting. At least the thin film of latex kept it clinical. He finished, and she felt the heat of the sperm even through the covering. He grunted, trying to sound manly, and rolled off of her.

“Oh, gross,” he said to the condom, and hustled off to the bathroom to get rid of it.

Emily stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t nearly done, but she wasn’t going to ask him for more. She had seen the way he looked at her, like he was grossed out, and it was only expected. She was just his friend. He wasn’t attracted to her. It was a favor; she took his and he took hers, and they wouldn’t have to _worry_ about it anymore. She heard him coming back and sat up, pulling down her skirt. “I’m going to go,” she said.

John looked at her. “Okay.” He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, Emily. You’re really awesome.”

“No problem.”

She hurried down the stairs and back into the alley. When she hit the cobbles, her knees sagged, and she leaned against the wall and wished she were dead. She could smell him still, and she hurt, and she shook. It hadn’t been what she wanted. She wanted to feel attractive, to feel like someone cared. But no one was going to care about her. Even her best friends—

“God, you’re such a dishrag.”

Emily looked up.

That woman was back, just as still, leaning against the wall across the alley, all in white, like a ghost, or a demon.

Emily tensed, her fingernails digging into her palms as she balled her hands into fists. “Who the hell are you? You’re creeping me out.”

“Oh, please. Do you ever think someone’s going to be attracted to you if _you_ don’t even think you’re sexy?” She was moving towards her. “There’s nothing wrong with your body. There’s nothing wrong with your face.” The words were flat and unaffectionate. She reached out, her fingers brushing Emily’s cheek, trailed by the points of her nails.

Emily’s stomach squirmed, and she moved to turn and run. But the woman caught her arm. “You let him slobber all over you and you didn’t even get off.”

“Don’t _touch_ me!”

“Really?” The woman pulled her in. Emily could feel her breasts pressing into her back. Her arms wound around her, closing over her waist and chest. A thumb ran over her nipple. “Didn’t you go to him because you wanted to be touched?”

Emily felt the tears rise up with the panic. “What are you doing to me? Why are you—”

The hands on her turned her around. The woman was looking down at her, her expression complicated, half threatening and half threatened. And then Emily was being kissed.

A waxy rub of thick greasepaint over her lips, a grip on her jaw, turning her head, wedging her mouth open, and the woman’s mouth closed over hers, sealing with it, possessing it.

It was a real kiss. _Finally_ , a real kiss. It wasn’t hard, like she had expected. It was just overwhelming. The woman’s grip loosened enough so she could escape, but her mouth was soft and warm and inviting, and Emily didn’t want to escape. The woman’s hand cupped her cheek, and her tongue, wet and lithe, flicked at Emily’s lips. She didn’t know what to do, but the woman was urging her mouth open, and she obeyed, sighing into it, the tongue sliding into her mouth like a snake, touching hers, opening her up more intimately than John’s dick had done.

Emily kissed back.

Too soon she ran out of air, and she broke it off, panting, pressed tight against the woman’s chest, wishing she wanted to run away. A pulse of arousal throbbed low in her gut. The woman’s hands closed lightly around the small of her back, and she was looking down, into her eyes, then her gaze flicked to her lips and back up again. She ran her thumb across Emily’s lower lip.

“There’s nothing wrong with your face,” the woman repeated. “I thought you needed to hear it.”

“Are you even real?” It didn’t seem possible. This woman knew everything she was thinking, knew what she wanted and what she felt, and was willing to give her a kiss like that, a first kiss like _that_. It would only be Emily’s usual luck if it were imaginary.

The woman smiled. “That’s better.” She bent her head and bit lightly at Emily’s neck. “I want to be your wet dream, not some stalker from your nightmare.”

Emily shook her head. This still didn’t make any sense. “I should . . .” she moved to go, and the woman caught her arms, clawed fingernails like knives against her skin.

“I can _smell_ you from here.”

Emily froze.

“If you go home to your fingers, I can promise you you won’t have sex again for years, and when you do, it will be just as bad as this time was.”

That didn’t make any sense. “How could you know?”

The woman's breath brushed over her ear. “I’m from your future. And right now, I’m making a divergence point.” She moved in close, hips rubbing lightly against Emily’s ass, hand circling on her abdomen, dipping lower and lower. “If you go now, you’ll have nothing, you’ll just be hurt, over and over again. Your friends will die. Your lovers will cheat on you. You’ll never be in love. Not really, not until you fall for someone you shouldn’t, and you drag the world down with you.”

“I don’t… understand.”

“Time is complicated like that. But if you stay . . .”

The woman’s hand slid under her skirt. It hovered at the waist of her underwear, waiting. “You can run now,” the woman said. “Or you can put your hands against the wall and keep your legs spread wide for me.”

Emily swallowed hard, but didn’t hesitate. She pressed her hands against the cold stone and moved her feet apart. The woman’s hand slid down her front, long fingers dipping inside of her. A low hiss came out of the woman’s mouth, her breath brushing Emily’s ear. “Smut and blood and latex. So dirty. I'd eat you right here.” And then her hand was moving, fingers pushing deep inside her, the heel of her hand grinding against her clit, and Emily was gasping, braced between the wall and the woman’s body. The easy twists of her fingers, the scrape of her long nails against sensitive flesh were like electric shocks. Her other hand came up to cup Emily’s breast, kneading it like a cat. And then, with a slight shift of position, the woman penetrated her. Long deep thrusts burrowed inside, just two fingers, hard and bony and recognizable, and Emily gasped. Knuckles pounded against her. Sweat beaded on her skin. Her fingers dug into cracks in the wall, her hips rocking. The woman drew out all the way, and then slammed in again, three fingers this time, bending and reaching the sweet spot deep inside, and Emily was coming, harder than she ever had while touching herself, body convulsing, slick wetness running out of her.

The woman pulled out, and spun her around. She slid her fingers into her mouth, sucking deeply, and then brushing the sticky mix of blood and cum and saliva over Emily’s cheek, tucking a strand of hair out of the way. “Run home, little red riding hood,” she whispered. “Run home before you’re eaten all up.”

There was a threat in her eyes, and with shaky knees and a shakier inside, Emily ran.

#


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more, so why not post more? This story is bats. It's even more bats if you know that this was my--oh, Back Before You Were Brittle was so much fun to write. What if the situations were reversed? What if . . . oh, Emma, no, no don't-- oh shit. Yeah, wrote that.--story. :)

The old lady in sunglasses had leaned back in her chair, tapping her cane on the table, and smiled. "Oh I saw one future where you ruled the world. And then I saw another, where you fell in love instead."

Emma wasn’t going to fall in _love_. She had laughed. And then she’d shown her the life-threads crossing, crossing again, then, finally, winding together into a knot, too tightly to extract. She’d seen herself _old_ , though not ugly with it. She had managed to keep weight on apparently, and hadn’t developed her mother’s drug-addled skeleton appearance. But she’d seen herself, leaning lazily against a kitchen counter, exchanging barbs with another woman, dark-eyed and wide-mouthed, a little drawn around the eyes, her dark hair misted with silver strands. A pack of brats charged through the house, chased down by a gangly young woman with mirror-familiar blue eyes.

“So what do you want more? Grandchildren? or ruling the world?”

As if that was even a question. “How do I stop this from happening?”

“It’s simple,” the old lady said. “I will give you one artifact and one trip into the past to change a pivotal moment of your ‘future wife’s life,’ and you give her that one item, and you can change everything.”

“It’s certain?”

The old lady shrugged. “Nothing is ever certain. One action can change a myriad of things, or it can change nothing. But I've seen it over and over again, this girl breaks you. Sometimes you love her, and sometimes she kills you, and sometimes she takes you down investment by investment. But that only happens if this corner is here.” She pointed to a bend in the red thread that wound itself into Emma’s white one, it turned her toward you. Her choices at this moment made her into the one person who could derail your forward path. So stop her.”

“Stop her from what?”

“She’s fifteen,” the old lady said. “Stop her from getting pregnant.”

Emma washed her hands slowly in the marble sink of the opulent hotel room. She cleaned her fingernails carefully, and she checked her face in the mirror to make certain there were no cracks.

The little girl had submitted to her, fallen open in her hands like a ripe peach. It had been easy. And perhaps it hadn’t been what she was supposed to do, but it had been far too tempting to stay and gloat.

But what if that had changed things unexpectedly? What if this meant that the girl would steal her chance again?

Go back to her own time or stay and wait? There had to be something behind her rusty shields that would make this make sense. How could this useless squalid human girl be the one to break her? If she knew that, she'd know whether she'd fixed it. And if she hadn't fixed it, well, a condom was one thing, but telepathy was better. If anyone could figure out what needed to change, she could.

And then there would be nothing the human child could do that would stop her from getting what she wanted.

And Emma knew what she wanted.

#

“Emily!”

Emily leaned against the wall of her home’s entryway, trying to breathe, trying to think. God, she felt filthy, sticky and wet, smelling like sweat and sex and alley. Was her mom going to be able to _tell_?

“Emily.” Her mother looked around the corner and frowned at her. “Did you just get in? You know you’re supposed to call if you’re going to be out late.”

“I-- I was just at John’s,” she said, still and waiting for her mother to _see_ , see everything that had happened, see her skinned palms and mussed hair and flushed skin.

“And did he walk you home? Honestly. Rome is dangerous at night. I don’t need you running around by yourself. Just call for the car.”

Elizabeth turned and walked away and Emily tried to catch her breath. She hadn’t noticed? She hadn’t seen anything wrong?

Sick to her stomach, Emily went upstairs and into the bathroom. She locked the door and turned on the shower. Then she stared at herself in the mirror.

How could her mother have not seen anything? She looked – she looked like someone she didn’t recognize, mouth red, lips swollen, skin pale and kind of sickly under the hot flush. Pink scratches lined with filigree of broken skin crossed the heels of her hands. She rubbed her hand over her breasts, trying to smooth out the fabric. Her nipples were unexpectedly hard against her palm. Slowly, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. She stared at her body, looking for handprints, for marks, for signs.

But there was nothing.

She dropped her bra and slid into the shower, reaching for the soap and trying to get it off, trying to get everything _off_. When she made it between her legs it was sticky and thick and she drew some out, the blood standing out harshly against her fingers. Then she brought it under the water and it slipped away down the drain.

Emily pressed her hands against her face and gulped down her urge to cry.

#

On a sunny Saturday, the Coliseum was packed with tourists, but Emily knew a secret way up to the top. She laid herself out on the hot sandy stone, a stray cat coming to sit on her stomach, and stared up at the sky.

Emily didn’t have any idea how she was supposed to talk to John now. Matt was almost worse, because she wanted to tell him, needed his comfort and understanding, if only of her distress and confusion, but he would hate her for doing it. He had told her not to let John and his desperate need to get laid mess her up. He told her they were cool for not being into that. But she had thought she was ready. She had thought she was ready when all she was was lonely.

“You got any advice for me?” she asked the clouds. “Anyone?”

She closed her eyes. But why should she expect a response? She had betrayed Diana’s cohort for a dalliance with Venus, and Venus was more of a trickster than Mercury.

If it had just been bad sex, fine, she could have dealt with it, put it behind her. She had never expected John to suddenly fall in love with her, and in fact, if he had, it would have been really weird. But she had hoped that it would be better with someone she considered a friend, that even if it was just getting off, just getting rid of that blinking neon brand of virginity, she would have had a chance to feel close to him. If it had been Matt they would have both been awkward, and they could have laughed about it. But Matt hadn’t been interested, and she hadn’t been willing to wait.

She had been an idiot. And what had happened afterwards . . .

God, she hoped it had been some sort of hallucination. Because if not, well, if it had actually happened, and the stickiness between her thighs and the scratches on her arms and palms hadn’t been from John, or from falling on her way home, then she was just a complete whore.

The woman had come off like some whack-job sleazy lurking rapist, or at the very least decidedly nuts. And Emily didn’t _get_ it. How could she have just opened up like that for her? In an alley, parting her lips for her tongue, leaning in for her touch, spreading for the thrust of her fingers. It was _disgusting_. But Emily remembered the heat of her mouth, her hands, moving over her, _appreciating_ with touch alone. And she very clearly remembered the twist in her belly, the desperation of it. At that point, if she had had to, Emily would have _begged_ to get off.

Just remembering it turned her on again, the horror at her own actions only making it worse, and she shuffled slightly until the cat got out of the way and slid her hand down the front of her shorts. She canted her hips up and rubbed circles through her underwear.

The woman hadn’t been too much older than her, late twenties, thirty at the oldest. Her expressions had been bitter, and her tone, even when paying a compliment, had been annoyed and derogatory. She had been a stranger, a complete mystery. There was none of that hoped-for closeness. It had been just sex, just getting Emily off as quickly and efficiently as possible. And it had been exciting and terrifying and kind of unpleasant, and then it had felt _so good_ , like her body _needed_ it, and it hadn’t been anything she’d thought it would be at all.

Emily wasn’t sure if she had liked it. The truth was, she hadn’t expected to like sex. She had expected it to be like drinking, fighting through a horrible flavor for a little bit of deadening that you paid hard for in the morning. And to an extent, it was true. She had felt like shit afterwards, like a stupid little girl who did nothing but make mistakes. But actually doing it… that had been _so_ much better than being drunk.

She came, just a little peak, and lay back, shutting her eyes and catching her breath. And, for a few moments at least, fell asleep in the hot sun.

#

“Nothing like a little open-air masturbation to make for a good morning.”

Emily tensed and spun.

Perched on the seat of a glossy white vespa sat the woman from the night before. She lifted her sunglasses, and Emily could finally see her eyes: blue-grey ice-chips sharply defined by lines of make-up and thickened darkened lashes.

“Why are you here again?”

The woman eyed her slyly. “Haven’t you got the idea yet? I was _looking_ for you.” She patted the seat behind her. “Get on.”

Emily knew better than _that_. “Are you joking? There’s no way I’m going anywhere with you.”

The woman laughed. “I’m not a serial killer, darling. Honestly,” she cocked her head. “You’re far too pretty to waste by killing you. I just want to talk.”

“Just talk?”

The corner of her mouth crooked up into a grin. “If you’re good, I might fuck you again.”

Emily flinched back. She didn’t want that, not even now, in the light, when it was clear that this woman was kind of incredibly pretty, and put together, and terrifying, like the Italian model-girls that she couldn’t bring herself to talk to, the ones who weren’t really all that much older than her, but who were grown up in a way she wasn’t. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I _told_ you what to call me.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “I’m _not_ calling you Mrs. Robinson. Honestly. You’re not _that_ much older than me.”

“I’m eleven years older than you right now.”

“Still not really old enough to be my mother.” Emily smiled sarcastically. “How do you know how old I am, anyways?” She furrowed her brow. “And don’t give me any garbage about ‘being from the future,’ because that’s just creepy, and I don’t want to know.”

The woman leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “I almost like you today. How come you’re such a doormat with your boytoy and not with me?”

Emily jerked away. “I knew what I was getting into with him. There weren’t any surprises, except for how crap he was in bed.”

“Not really a surprise.”

Emily laughed, cold. “No. Not really.”

The woman watched her for a moment, eyes cool and calculating, and she pulled off the sunglasses, folding them. Then she put out her hand. “I’m Emma.” Emily looked at her hand and then into the cool eyes, a slight smile crinkling the corners.

“Really?”

“I have ID if you’re that freaked out about it.” She grinned. “I’m a real person. Not a hallucination. That mushrooms experience must have really stuck in your head.”

“Don’t bring that up!”

Emma laughed. “I was just guessing on that one.”

Emily watched her for a moment, trying to figure out what sort of game this was. Emma didn’t _feel_ like a predator – well, maybe she did, but the way she was looking at her, eyeing her, analyzing her, as if she was trying to figure out how she worked – Emily felt a little like she was being seen as a person, and not as an object – as a female thing, as a child, as an American. It was the kind of prey she wanted to be. “You’re Emma.”

Emma quirked an eyebrow. “Most of the people your age that I know call me Ms. Frost. But I’m not allowed to sleep with them. The other ones call me Mistress. Let’s not blur the boundaries.”

“You’re _allowed_ to sleep with me?”

“We’re in Italy. Age of consent is fourteen.”

“Did I consent?”

“Did you?”

Emily looked away. She knew the answer to that, spreading her legs like a _whore_.

“Hey,” Emma touched her arm then patted the seat behind her. “Let’s get out of the city. It’s too hot here and too full of fucking tourists, not that that stops _you_ from getting off.”

“All right.” Emily swung on behind, thighs bare below her rucked up skirt pressing against the sleek fabric of the woman's closely cut skirt, knees just brushing skin.

#

“This is one of the old temples.”

Emma looked up at the small empty chapel after parking the Vespa on the drive and couldn’t tell why the girl had said that.

“See, the two-tailed mermaid over the door? It was originally pagan. Not Christian.”

“Oh.” There was a tinge of relief in the girl's head, a suggestion that the reminder that there wasn't just one moral authority in the world was freeing. Emma's family had been protestants of the most disinterested kind, but in Emily's mind there were echoes of the sound of bells, the hint of incense, of shadows, and a rhythm in the words that echoed the intonation of truth.

The day was still hot, even outside the city, and Emily flopped like a child into the grass under the shadow of a tree. Her eyes kept flicking to Emma, a little suspicious, but occasionally dropping to her cleavage. Emma settled down to sit against the trunk of the tree.

“What do you want from me?”

Emma shrugged. Right now the girl was too awake and aware. Last night she could have gotten away with telling her the truth. _I want to break you_. _I want to make sure you will_ never _be a threat to me._

Emily rolled onto her back, watching her from upside down. Emma moved, hovering over her head, and lowering herself to kiss her. It was strange, the feeling of lips meeting the wrong way around. Emily sighed when she let her go.

“I’m not going to let you touch me again.”

“No?” Emma raised an eyebrow. The little brat was trying to lay down the law?

“Kissing’s different.” Her eyes flicked away. “I’m not gay.”

“Then why can’t you keep your eyes off of my cleavage?”

Emily flushed. Her thoughts were bright and hot in her head. _It's not_ my _fault if the woman just puts them out there like that._ “They’re just, nice, your breasts…”

Emma laughed. “I’ll make sure to pass the compliment on to my surgeon.”

Emily stared. “Really?”

Emma traced a finger down the girl’s throat, over her collarbone, and down her cleavage as far as she could. “Not everyone has your natural endowments, darling. And if you have the cash, you can become whoever you want to be.”

Emily’s lips twisted, and she sat up, pulling herself away from the too familiar touch. “I don’t… care about that. But appreciating your… _fine workmanship_ doesn’t make me gay. I like boys.” _Like Matt._

“Honey, it’s called bisexual. And it doesn’t matter.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Sex is sex. You want it when you want it, with whoever you want it with.”

Emily’s gaze dropped guiltily.

“And Matt? Really? Desire comes in a lot of different shades. But it doesn’t come in ‘friendship.’”

“I don’t--”

“I know what you want.” Emma shook her head. The kid was a mess inside. “You want someone to wrap yourself up in. You want to give everything. You want to be protected, and connected, and never fear or doubt that they don’t feel the same, that they’re going to go away.”

The words hit home, and Emily flinched.

“But that never happens. You can’t promise feelings. Feelings are involuntary. People change. Even if you can read minds, the only constant is that you never know who someone is five minutes to the next.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to change the world,” Emma drawled.

Emily cocked her head to the side. “Somehow, you don’t strike me as the altruistic type.”

Emma laughed and gave her a little truth. “I want to change _my_ world, my future, my dreams. I don’t really give a damn about anyone else’s. But I’m a teacher, so maybe I’m a little altruistic.”

The girl stared. “You’re a _teacher_?”

Emma grinned, amused by the incredulity. “A headmistress, in fact. I have my own academy.”

“You’re twenty _six_.”

“I work fast. And I know how to get what I want. I could teach you that.” Her eyes darkened. “I can teach you a lot of things. I can teach you to please, and I can teach you to _take_. If you listen, I can teach you to get anything you desire, men, women, businessmen, politicians.”

Emily scowled. “I’m not interested in politics.”

“Those are just applications. I can teach you to seduce. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You can’t connect. You don’t know how to interact with people as an adult. Making friends and finding lovers, it’s a skill; it’s not luck. I can teach you to catch them, and I can teach you to keep them.”

“You said no one ever stays.”

“Not for love. But there are ways to make people stay. For one, people will do incredible things for excellent sex.”

Emily looked ill and upset. She was getting to her. This was working. Time to up the temptation. She reached out to touch her face, rubbed her thumb over her lower lip.

“It would be a pleasure to teach you,” she said softly. “I’m very attracted to you.”

The girl breathed in, her eyes lifting up, unsure, afraid. She wanted proof. She wanted a promise. Silly girl. Emma leaned in and nuzzled against her cheek, her breath whispering against Emily’s ear. “May I kiss you?”

A small murmur of assent came from the girl’s chest. She tilted her head up, and Emma kissed her. She knew she had to be gentle. She had to be perfect. She had to give just a taste of the delicious, decadent eroticism she had to offer. Emily’s fingers flexed on her arms as she pulled away slightly. “Why do you want me?” It was a different question than all the similar ones before. It was ‘why _me_?’ Why, when you could have anyone? Emma was _ashamed_ that she was the one who turned her life inside out.

“Because you’re _pathetic_.” The unintended honesty came out a little too harsh and abrasively sarcastic, and Emma tensed, scared she had made an irreparable mistake. But Emily laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. Her fingers tangled in the short hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck and she tugged her down and kissed her, laughing into it.

Emma couldn’t help but find the girl’s unexpected response to her criticism hilarious and oddly sexy. She kissed back, mouths open, tongues meeting, pushing her down into the grass, and moving to hover over her. She tugged the girl’s shirt open, hands sliding up her chest to cup her breasts, and knead her fingers into them. She bent to kiss and nip at her neck.

The girl arched under her, eager and pliant.

 _One more fuck_ , Emma thought to herself, get her off quick and easy, and then she could start exploring.

Sex was a way to find anyone's tells. And teaching this girl to bare her ass and lick her boots could only be a benefit to society.

See? Altruism. She had it in spades.

#


	3. Chapter 3

"You're a-- a mutant, aren't you?"

The woman sat over her hips, casting a shadow across her, her smile predatory. Emily shifted slightly, and Emma's weight rolled into her, heavy and comfortable. At the question, her lip curled into a half-sneer.

"Do you know any mutants?"

Emily shook her head. "Mom's always complaining about them. The government policies don't make sense. No one is really thinking through the issues."

"That's accurate."

"I used to think I was a mutant. I wasn't . . . I wasn't right. I didn't fit." Emily breathed out a laugh. "But that's just me. No genetic anomalies required. No super power either."

The woman's expression gentled. Her eyes flicked lower, and Emily flushed and tried to shuffle down her shirt to hide her breasts. But she was too late. Emma reached down and closed her hands around them. Emily squirmed with embarrassment. But because Emma's weight was heavy in her lap, it only served to turn her on even more.

"Not all of us get that gift." Emma traced one finger down between her breasts, twanging the bra-strap between them. "Some of us get others, though."

Emily's face got even hotter, but she laughed, and reached up, tugging the woman down to kiss her again.

#

Emma hadn’t counted on finding the girl attractive. Admittedly, it wasn’t that surprising if she actually accepted that what that old lady had told her was true. If there was anyone who was going to fuck up her life that much, she had damn well better be attractive.

And Emily was attractive, soft curves, huge dark eyes, a wide, soft mouth, the sweet, unmarked innocence of childhood.

Emma knelt over her. The girl’s clothes were mussed, her eyes slightly unfocused, a little stunned after her second orgasm of the day.

“I can play you like a panpipe,” Emma murmured teasingly, “but it’s time you learned to reciprocate.”

Emily’s eyes widened in panic. The little bitch had held the bedclothes and grit her teeth when she had to deal with cock, she wasn’t going to be any better with girl-parts. But Emma could change that.

Emma caught her hand and then guided it up under her skirt between her legs. Her fingers brushed against the moist heat of her cunt and flinched away. Emma's grip hardened on her wrist. “Just touch me.”

Emily’s face contorted in resistance. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had her hands all over herself earlier. Really, what was the big deal?

“Why is it different? Why is it different than this?” She drew Emily's hand out from under her skirt and brought it up to her face, trailed her fingers over her lips. Emily’s eyes widened, and then closed. She lay her head back and Emma could feel her focusing on how it felt. Emma loosened her grip on her wrist and parted her lips, letting her fingers slip in. They stroked curiously against her tongue. Emma nipped lightly at a fingertip and then sucked deeply on the two fingers.

“Mmm, that’s right. Now fuck me, just a little.” She caught a digit between her lips and let Emily work it in and out of her mouth.

Emily whimpered.

“You want it, don’t you? You want to feel your fingers inside me.”

She nodded, eyes still scrunched tight.

“Then do it,” and Emma let go of her hand.

Of her own volition, Emily’s hand slipped under her skirt. Emily's eyes opened. She bit down on her lower lip, lifting her head slightly to concentrate, and then let her fingers slide up Emma’s inner thigh.

There, the pads of her fingers brushed against her, pausing for a moment untangle themselves from the small trimmed patch of hair, then sliding forward, finding heat and humidity and enough arousal to signal that, yes, this was the place to be.

Emily took a short gasp of air, and then, with her thumb, teased back up, seeking out her clit.

“Oh, _good_ girl,” Emma murmured. She was already using her _brain_ in this business.

And then she moved in. Her face was such a pretty picture of concentration and trepidation and curiosity. She slid in, two fingers, right up to her knuckles, and her lips parted in an 'oh' of astonishment. It was different, wasn’t it? Buried deep in someone else.

“Mmm,” Emma murmured. Training wasn’t about getting off, and this girl was far too tense to actually be _useful_ in that area, but positive reinforcement was a useful teaching tool.

Emily frowned.

#

Pinned on the ground with Emma hovering over her hips, her hand nestled tightly between Emma’s thighs, fingers buried deep inside her, hot and wet and close, and Emily was way, way out of her depth. How was this supposed to _work_? The angle was all weird and reversed from what she usually did to herself, and backwards from what Emma had done to her. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

She frowned, then half sat up, sliding her hips out from under Emma, then caught Emma’s arm, and tugged sharply. Surprised, Emma unbalanced. Emily pulled her down, pushing her into the grass, swiveling on top of her. Emma’s knees drew up and clamped around her hips. Emily’s fingers stayed deep inside her. And then Emma was splayed out under her, and Emily could get up on her knees and figure out what was going on. She leaned over and placed a kiss on Emma’s throat, and then started drawing her fingers out, twisting her hand around slightly, getting in position to push back in and rub over her clit all at once. Emma made an odd little noise, her hips bucking slightly.

Emily looked up, looked at her face. Emma was half propped on her elbows. Her lips were parted, eyes wide. She seemed a little stunned, a little tense, her expression entirely open – when it had _never_ been open, not since she had met her, and Emily pushed her fingers back in. Emma’s hips rolled and her head dropped back.

“Okay,” Emma murmured, “okay. Let’s… let’s see how you do here.”

Emily felt her heart pounding hard, her chest tight, breath coming quickly. She kept up the slow long slide of her fingers, in and out, dragging each motion out as long as she could, biting her lip at every involuntary twitch of Emma’s hips, her mouth dry, and wishing Emma was naked, so she could lean down and bite at her stomach. Her other hand dug into the grass, holding on tight.

Emma started twitching a little more, making slightly annoyed-sounding grunts, and Emily leaned in. She pressed her mouth against Emma's neck, and then bit down, just a little, and at the same time sped up. With speed came more force. Her thumb rubbed circles over her clit, and she was fucking her firmly, quickly, and as Emma started to buck and clutch at the grass, more and more roughly.

“Fuck, Emily – crook your fingers, just a little – okay?”

Emily obeyed, and Emma’s back arched. “God, fuck!” She came blasphemously, and soaked Emily’s hand. Emily slowly withdrew her fingers and looked at the glistening clear wetness, swallowing anxiously.

“Jesus, Emily,” Emma murmured. “Not bad for a first timer.”

Emily’s gut twisted in something that might have been happiness or maybe was terror. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now lick your fingers.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “ _What_?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tasted yourself.”

“I-- I, of course not! I wouldn’t--”

Emma’s eyes darkened. “Taste _me_.”

Emily swallowed and looked back at her hand. Then she brought it to her lips and licked her way up her index finger. It was sticky and salty and not really like any flavor except maybe clean sweat on skin. Emily licked her lips and then slipped her fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean. The chapel loomed at her back. Watching. But He was always watching, right?

“Mmm,” Emma purred. “I’m going to _like_ teaching you to give head.”

#

“Where the hell were you, Emily?”

Emily froze as she came in through the door, far too aware of her mussed hair and the grass stains on her knees, the taste of girl-cum on her lips. Her mother was standing on the stairs, furious and intense.

“Neither Matt nor John knew where you were!”

“I-- I’m sorry. I just… went for a walk.”

“All day? Alone?”

Emily shrugged weakly. “I went farther than I thought. It took me a while to get back.”

Elizabeth sighed. “You’re such a _child_ sometimes. Go get changed for dinner. The Saudi Ambassador is coming. Honestly, you look like you’ve been running through bushes.”

Emily nodded and hurried upstairs before she could get a closer look.

#

Arrayed in the sort of dress her mother deemed appropriate for dinner with company, Emily came softly down the stairs, keeping her right hand behind her back. She'd scrubbed and scrubbed, but a faint scent lingered in her nail beds, and she couldn't think of using it for anything else. How could she pick things up or shake hands when this hand had been used for something so dirty--so dirty and so . . . grand.

"Miss Emily."

Emily flinched. The Saudi Ambassador had already arrived. He loomed over her, looking down, always disapproving. Her mother might approve these dresses, but his eyes would scan her collar and hems in a mix of desire and accusation. He'd cornered her in the hallway before, scolding her for being whorish. "I will not see you disrespect my good friend the ambassador like this," he'd said, standing so close she was enveloped in the cloud of his heavy cologne. "You must be a better daughter."

He'd judged her when she'd done nothing. Emily lifted her chin and looked him in the face. _Judge me now_. Only, he wouldn't know. He couldn't know. It didn't show on the outside. At that thought, she smiled. The ambassador's brow furrowed even deeper, and he scowled.

Emily clasped her hands behind her back and continued down the stairs into the parlor.

#

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! I deleted the horrendous first draft of this chapter and rewrote it. I hope it is better now.

"Hey," Matt ducked his head over his chocolate, settling in at the table across from Emily. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah." Emily played with the apricot jam. "It's been a weird couple days."

"It has?"

Emily flushed, trying not to think too hard about all of the crazy stuff she'd done. She didn't want it to show on her face. If anyone could read her, it would be Matt. "Just . . . thinking about stuff."

Matt's mouth slackened and his eyes dropped to the tabletop. "Yeah."

"Are you okay?" His hurt pulled her out of her self absorption, and Emily leaned over, reaching out to touch his arm. "Nothing happened, did it?"

"No." Matt's long straight fringe shook, still hiding his face. "My parent's are just-- they say things. And I just--"

Emily squeezed his bicep. She didn't like his parents. They didn't like her either, but she skated by, being polite, getting away with missing church because her mother was important enough to have good excuses. Emily liked going to the Italian language Catholic services, but Matt's family thought that brand of Catholicism was too pagan. It didn't count unless she went to the ex-pat church. But church in English felt thin and mundane, people telling her what she should and shouldn't do. There was still the music and the incense, but she couldn't let go of the world there, disassociate from the reality of her body.

She'd tried to explain it to Matt's parents once. It hadn't gone well.

"Do you know what I've always admired about you?"

Matt tipped his head, curious.

"It's something you have that John doesn't." Emily cupped her hand around her words and teased, "not to badmouth John or anything."

"No, go ahead, I'm totally fine with badmouthing John." Matt grinned and they giggled together.

"It's just, John always thinks there's a right way of doing things. But when you ask him why it's the right way, he always says things like, 'everyone knows that,' or 'that's just what people do.' You don't think like that. When you decide what's right, there's always a reason. You think about it. And you're not afraid to question the 'everyone knows' ideas."

Matt smiled properly now, though his eyes were wet.

"I wish I was more like you," Emily said, feeling guilty about even looking at him. "But I can't think it's wrong to just . . . to want what you want. Or not want what you don't want."

"Wanting something doesn't mean you should do it."

"Yeah." The chocolate, usually rich and bitter, felt too thick and sweet on her tongue. Emily choked it down. "I slept with John."

Matt's lips parted, his mouth wet.

"If you can call it that. It was so lame." Emily shook her head. "I get it now. I didn't want it. But I thought I ought to. And I wasn't strong enough to just accept that I didn't. And it was like, the most traumatizing, awful experience of my life."

" _Emily_."

Emily's rambling cut off.

"Were you safe? Did you--"

Emily stared at him, uncomprehending. "Oh. _Yes_. Of course."

"Like, really? Because if there's any chance--"

Emily shook her head furiously. "No. None. I promise. E--" _Emma_. Fuck. Emma had read her mind and given her a condom. What if she hadn't? What if she'd just gone in there and let John talk her into doing it anyway? What if . . .

"Because that's the _reason_ , Emily. This isn't like not wanting to drink coffee and drinking it anyway. If you're not ready, you don't get to just walk away knowing it was a mistake."

Emily rubbed her head. "Yeah." She swallowed hard, remembering her fingers in someone else's mouth, rough stone under her palms. "Yeah."

Matt's mouth was hard at the corners. He didn't speak, but Emily could see it written on his face. _I thought you were different. I thought you were better than that stuff. I thought you were like_ me _._

"I--"

"Hey guys!" John carried a cup of chocolate over and grinned at Emily. Matt went white and sat back quickly. Emily forced herself to smile, faking composure.

"Hey."

"I gotta pee." Matt stood up and walked quickly away.

"Hey," John said again, voice low in what was probably supposed to be sexy. He slid into the seat next to her. His cologne made her eyes burn. "So I was thinking about the other night. I was thinking maybe--"

"No."

John sat up, cocking his head to the side. "What?"

"Look." Emily sighed. "Turns out I'm really not all that into it. I wasn't ready, even though I thought I was. And, I'm just not interested in trying again."

"Oh." John shifted his chair farther away from her. "Okay. Cool."

"John." Emily didn't really want to say 'you were really bad.' "I don't think you wanted to be with me either. It wasn't that great, was it? I think it can be. But maybe only with someone you really want to be with."

John flinched. "It was fine for me."

Well, he'd got to come. Emily's skin itched at the memory of it. Even if she had come, it still wouldn't have been good. She hadn't wanted to be there, hadn't wanted to touch him.

She'd wanted to touch Emma. Her fingers tucked tightly inside her pocket. John was her friend, and Emma was a weird, older, _mutant_ stranger, and yet, John's skin against hers had made her nerves fire every which way, prickly and crawling, her stomach turned. Emma--the heat welled up, burning everywhere they'd touched, filling her up with a focused intensity, not the panicked, scattered desperation.

"I just wanted to have _sex_."

"Not everyone can divorce that sentence from the 'with' clause." Emily made a face.

John rolled his eyes. "Girls."

"Well, yeah, 'with girls' is totally a viable answer," Emily said. It came out as a joke, but the echoes of the words choked her, clogging her chest and speeding her heart. Was that the difference? "But not with me."

John wrinkled his nose. "Not _not_ with you." Then he grinned. "It makes sense though. You're not really a girl."

"Shut up." Emily shoved him. But she could feel the bones inside her wrists and hands, shaking.

Matt edged his way back, seeing them goofing off, and gave a hesitant smile.

"Dude," John said. "You're with me. Emily's just one of the guys. She's not a real girl."

Matt laughed. "I think you're not a real guy, John." He sat back down. "You hang with us. And I'm cool with being one of the girls. So you must be too."

He met Emily's eyes, steady and comforting, and Emily felt her breath return to it's usual pace. She was okay. People wanted what they wanted. Things didn't have to make sense. It was okay.

#

Emily and Matt and John worked their way through the city, down toward the Piazza Vittorio. They stopped for Nepalese takeaway, and continued on, walking and eating, not wanting to pay to sit down. They avoided the nearby park, not wanting to attract the attention of any of the gangs of older boys that roamed there, and headed to one of the less touristy fountains where they could sit on the edge and fish for interesting coins.

At one of the wine bars across the plaza, Emily caught a flash of white. She tensed, and Matt glanced over.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Emily gulped. "I just thought I saw someone I knew."

She took two more steps, and suddenly, all around her, everyone was naked. She flinched away from the burly man, his chest as hairy as a black lamb, with a tiny half-erect penis, who had been looking at her. A lady with huge breasts turned and bent down to grab a small bare-bottomed child and nearly smothered it with them. John and Matt turned toward her, pale smooth chests glowing in the sunshine, their floppy dicks bouncing. Emily shut her eyes.

Then everyone was clothed again, and Emily knew the name of a hotel, what it looked like, and a room number.

#

Emma opened the door in a white silk robe, tied at the waist--which wasn't enough. The exposed skin on her chest, smooth and touchable. She smiled, lazily, turning, one hand over her shoulder to wave Emily through.

"I thought you might not be coming. Too busy with all the pretty boys you have on a leash."

Emily flushed and crossed her arms. "There's no leash." She was angry too. She'd almost forgotten about this, was almost able to just have a good time with her friends without being tangled and guilty the whole time, and then Emma had spoiled it.

"Would you like there to be?" Emma laughed and handed her a fizzy amber drink in a tumbler.

Emily sniffed it carefully. It smelled like ginger ale. But when she tasted it, it had the bite of prosecco. "What does that even mean?"

Emma's grin grew even wider. "So much to learn, darling."

Emily took a longer sip and scowled. "I might not have come. We were having fun. But then Matt had to go to church."

"Good wholesome fun." Emma shrugged. "It's true. Not all teenagers are horny all the time. Reductionist myths."

"John is." Emily shook her head. "I'm not even horny most of the time. I have to get worked up to it."

"Fair enough." Emma picked up a deck of Italian cards off the table and tossed it to Emily. "Can you play Briscola?"

Emily barely caught the deck and looked at it and back up at Emma. "What?"

"You said you weren't horny." Emma raised an eyebrow. "Lets play cards. Briscola?"

She hadn't actually said that. When Matt had left and John had started rambling in filthy terms about passing women--who clearly knew more English than he imagined they did--Emily had made her excuses, and then spent a good half-hour pacing around the block the hotel was on. She hadn't been horny then, but she couldn't help think about the grass stains on her knees and Emma's surprise, and the way she'd looked when Emily had figured her out, made her come. And then she'd answered the door in almost nothing.

Emily pressed her knees together and sat on the heat in her gut. "I . . . I know the rules. Better at bridge."

Emma made a face. "Oh, god. You're fifteen and you can play bridge. We should play Bullshit or something. My students spent ages teaching me. Still, I suppose neither of us can claim the most fun childhoods. I didn't go back far enough in time to fix that."

Emily stilled. She was still talking about going back in time. The last time she'd mentioned it, it had come with a warning, telling her just how bad her future could be. It had felt real at the time, but nothing had really felt real then, all too intense, heightened need, darkness, pain. This time it was casual, as if it was real, but also meant nothing.

"Come on."

Emma untied the belt to her robe and let the sides fall open. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Emily shut her eyes. Obviously, she wasn't hiding anything from a telepath. Emma knew she wanted . . . something--something that wasn't a game of cards. But what did Emma want? Did she want Emily to take it? Or did she want her to stay stubborn?

Emma settled in on one side of a small table and gestured for Emily to take the opposite seat. Emily slowly moved into it, having a hard time taking her eyes away from the white silk, and how it pooled around her shoulders, draping and folding just enough to reveal the line of her collarbone, the curve of a breast. It was a game, Emily decided. She wasn't so wired to her libido that she couldn't focus when Emma was mostly naked.

"Now shuffle."

Emma rolled her shoulders, and the cards went everywhere.

"Sorry." Emily scrambled on the floor to scoop them up. She glanced up once, staring, sweat beading beneath her jaw and in the hollow of her throat. Emma's legs, long and smooth, the satin spilling around them--Emily stared at the vee between her legs. It was just flesh, just part of her body like any other part, a patch of hair and-- Emma spread her knees apart, and Emily grabbed the last of the cards and banged her head on the table as she came up.

Emma bared her teeth in a grin. "Tell me when you're 'worked up.'"

It was a challenge. Emily swallowed and focused on the cards, shuffling them successfully this time. They dealt a hand. Each time Emma moved the silk shifted.

Emily lost every hand.

Emma kissed her cheek at the door and sent her home for dinner.

Beaten, Emily limped home, over-sensitized and still worked up. She fell onto her bed and stuffed her hand down the front of her pants without even unbuttoning them first. That had been awful. She'd lost and lost.

But she hadn't really lost. She hadn't begged for it. That meant she'd won.

Right?


End file.
